Famous Last Words
by Iusedtobesomeone
Summary: Hermione is sick of all the crap she gets, and from the Minister of Magic no less. After she quits her job and everything starts to go downhill, the last thing she expects is to find inspiration in her former rival.
1. Chapter 1

I stood in the ruins of the most important building in the wizarding world. The smoke all around was illuminated by the glowing embers on the ground, and although the heat was practically unbearable even with my protective charm, it was worth it just to stand here. There's a sense of closure, watching everything I was taught to stand for burn to the ground. It makes me feel powerful, as if I am finally in control of my own story.

If we're being completely honest here, it also made me feel like one of those heroes in the apocalypse stories my father loved to read. The hero would always swoop in right before the world was bout to end and save everything. The story would end there, with the protagonist kissing the love interest. It would be dramatic and happy and leave you feeling accomplished. In this moment, I felt accomplished. But this story was different; in this story, it was too late to save the world, and in this story, there was no hero to save it. I couldn't save the world because its destruction was all my doing.

••one month earlier••

"Granger! Close the goddamn door, will you? And while you're at it, being me the stack of bills on the table right there." I sighed, walking over to the aforementioned door and picking up the stack of papers next to it, then trying very hard to school my features to look respectful as I handed the Minister of Magic his papers. Apparently, I didn't do very well on that front, as his perfectly sculpted eyebrows scrunched together as he glanced towards my face.

"Honestly, woman, be more cheerful. I don't understand how you made it this far in magical law with an obviously inability to charm." I gritted my teeth to resist snapping out something about how actually doing work usually pays off. However, Minister Ikgond wouldn't know much about that; he practically flirted his way into office. And how I ended practically being his assistant was whole other matter.

It didn't matter anymore. I was sick of this.

"I quit." I looked down at my shoes, embarrassed at my own words, then quickly back up. If I was going to do this, I'd better do it right. "I'm quitting, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. I'm sick and tired of you ordering me around like some sort of servant. I know you think I'll forgive you for it all as long as you smile at me. After all, it worked for all the others, right? That's how you got this bloody position in the first place! I can't believe I ever thought I could work for you! You insult minority species, you not-so-subtly ignore the muggleborn protests, and now you think you run the world?! I'm sick of all your bullshit, and if you want to stay this way, then go on! Destroy your own fucking office, see if I care!" It was a mark of how upset I was that I was swearing, I was usually much more reserved. However, I didn't care. He could bloody well manage on his own.

I stormed over to my desk in the most intimidating way I could, granted it was only ten feet away from the minister's. And that was being generous. He'd always liked to keep his most prized possessions close. I snorted. I couldn't believe I'd ever been blind enough to think I would get anything done in this room. I swung my satchel over my shoulder angrily and spun to face Ikgond's desk. He looked slightly stunned, and I thought better of what I had been about to say, deciding it more rewarding to leave him in silence, looking like the idiot he was. I flashed him a smile, then spun on my heel and left the office without looking back. Well, almost. As I reached the door, I realized I had left my eagle quill on the desk. As if I was going to let that wanker touch it.

Once I finally made it out of the room it was easier to breath. I strode down the hallway a bit, then dropped my bag to the floor and slid down the wall next to it. What were people going to think when they saw the senior secretary to the minister sitting on the floor of the ministry? I didn't care at this point. It was former secretary, I reminded myself. I glared at the few people who dared to stare at me as they walked past, then dropped my head into my arms. What had become of my life? All this mess had probably started with Ron and I splitting up, I suppose.

It had been a day like any other, and a fight like any other. We always got into little disagreements: wether or not the windows should be closed, who's turn it was to cook, or if we should floo his aunt first or my parents. I guess one of us should have picked up on the warning signs, but we were both too caught up in our lives. Plus, we always got over them pretty quickly, as well: we might settle on having one window open and one closed, he would point out that he cooked last night, or I would reason that we had fire-called Molly the night before. This one had started out the same as all the others; we couldn't agree on who's turn it was to do the dishes. Soon, it became rather heated, but that was normal, as Ron was often very quick tempered. What really brought me over the top was when he stated that because I had a restaurant job, I would probably be more efficient. The problem was, that was a valid argument. But didn't he realize that because I had a restaurant job, I had had more than my share of dirty dishes? One thing led to another, and sooner we're having a full on screaming match about responsibilities. The only reason that stopped was because we both were exhausted.

Ron slept on the couch that night, and in the morning we had a civil but tight lipped discussion, and then I left. Just like that. The rest of the week went downhill from there. After moving out, I couldn't continue my job because it was too far away from my new flat. Of course, I took advantage of this to do what I had always wanted and get a ministry job. Foolishly, I thought I could help people, but the only thing I was helping was the decoration in the minister's office. Which led me to where I was now.

Sighing, I picked up my bag and made my way down the elevators and down the numerous lifts to the lobby. To find that all the floo spots were shut down. Of course, I mentally berated myself. It was Thursday, and that meant security drills. Which also meant no apparating. I was left with no choice but to wait it out, but there was no chance that I would sit in the lobby, what with all the strange looks I was getting already. I guess no one with the signature maroon secretary robes usually had time to sit around.

Once out the front doors, I made straight for the one place I knew I wouldn't be disturbed: Eastpark Cemetery. Despite being one of the only muggle graveyards in central London, it was always strangely empty. Some might find it rather chilling, but I quite liked it. It was peaceful and fairly well maintained, and no live people meant no strange questions.

Of course, it seemed all the fates were against me that day. As I meandered my way through the winding bushes and tombstones towards my usual area, I found someone already there. They were dressed in all black, hunched over a simple marker on the ground. Suddenly very aware of how out of place my soft blue jumper and faded denims were, I considered turning back. However, it was likely that the person had already noticed me, so I kept my head down and walked towards my favorite bench.

As I sat down, however, I couldn't keep from glancing over at the figure, which now was apparent to be a man. There was something about the way his body was angled towards the grave; it suggested as if the sorrow that had once consumed him was now replaced by exhaustion, and it kept him slumped over in mourning. When the man turned his head, the last thing I expected to see were a set of piercing grey eyes that mirrored my exact conclusions. I noticed the white blonde strands sweeping across his chiseled face and I realized the sharp features were dulled by the lack of expression and shadows under his eyes. I noticed the thin neck and sculpted shoulder line, but they were slumped with no hint of the arrogance that used to keep them pushed back and haughty. The man who looked at me was practically a shell of the person they used to be, but I couldn't keep myself from blurting out when it all hit me-

"Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

I couldn't believe it. Draco Malfoy had been missing for months. Well, not missing, per se, but no one knew where he was. It was unusual for a Malfoy to have such a low status, but then again, it was unheard of for Malfoys to be in muggle graveyards looking half dead themselves. And yet here we both were.

"So.. what brings you here?" I asked then immediately regretted it. Let's see, Hermione, my brain says to itself. He's in a graveyard, leaning over a gravestone. Why could he be here? Honestly. Well, what's said is said, so I looked over at Malfoy expectantly.

Apparently, he thought my question was just as daft as I did, from the way he rolled his eyes. Somehow he still managed to look sarcastic when obviously mourning.

"My mother is in the ground over there." He croaked out, gesturing with his chin. "I was visiting her. Is there something wrong with that? And one could ask the same question of you, Granger: what are you doing here?"

"I was trying to get a breath of fresh air." And honestly, there must be something wrong with my brain, because here it is doubting me again. Before I can finish my thoughts, Malfoy interrupted. The git must still feel the need to mock me, or maybe it's instinct by now.

"Because normal for ministry workers to be in muggle graveyard at…" he checked his wrist, on which a watch sat, black like the rest of his ensemble. "Three o'clock in the afternoon? Either our fine Minister got tired of your ugly face or you got tired of his. Which is it, Granger?"

As much as I would love to try and get a sharp word out to him, I figure I should try to be civil at this point. I've resigned to the fact that this might be the most engaging conversation I have all day.

"I got tired of his, if you must know. Overall, he's a git and he doesn't know how to respect a single person. Or any woman, at least. Honestly. It's the most appalling behavior I've ever seen in a Minister of Magic, and that's saying something, granted I've- we've, rather, lived with Fudge. I'm starting to think it's the least respectable job in the entire Ministry."

"Or he makes it so, at least."

I blink. Did Malfoy just agree with me on something? Apparently, he did, and he also saw my questioning look, judging by the way he sighed.

"After the war, we all had our trials. Before the trails, the minister had the audacity to pull me aside. He offered me a job. As his fucking scullery maid. And I'm sure that's not all the use he would have found for me. I refused, and he became all bitter, claiming that I could watch myself land in Azkaban, then. Well, I'm sure you knew the outcomes; my father had a life sentence in Azkaban, my mother and I got off with nothing. Potter testified for the both of us, saying we had helped him in the war. Which I guess was true but honestly I'd much rather I was rotting away in a cell at the moment. We may have had no official punishment, but it's bad enough just being a Malfoy these days. Funny how ones life can be turned completely upside down. What I used to take pride in, I'm now ashamed of. At least I can admit it."

His voice became sour.

"Pansy, Greg, Blaise, they all hide out. They've switched their names and are now living with their muggle spouses, having decided it was the better way. I don't hide out. I guess that's why standing in central London right now. My mother and I went back to the Manor, but it wasn't the same. To know what happened there-" He broke off and shuddered, then looked me straight in the eyes. "That's one thing I am ashamed of. Believe it or not. Some of the people that were killed there were completely innocent. Others… others deserved what they got. You should have seen what some of the people did. What my father did. I think that's what broke my mother down. As our bank accounts began to recede, and all our contacts pulled away, we were all forced to face how we had gotten into this situation. She knew what my father had done better than I did, and what's more, she knew how he was before he was a Death Eater. All those people out there, all those men and women and even children. They're all people. We're all people. But look what they become. Look what I've become. My mother knew that there was good underneath us all, and that's what broke her. She became sick and more sick, and eventually, she died. I couldn't bury her in a wizarding cemetery. I couldn't stand the idea of people walking by her grave and jeering, spitting at the name carved into the stone. So here she is. And here I am," he concluded, nodding to the spot we were standing in. "And I may look like shit, but that's ok. Maybe that's what I deserve. I don't mind it, really. I understand why no one would want to give a Malfoy a job, why no one would want to house a Malfoy. I can't stand to live in the Manor, so I live on the streets." He shrugged, looking away from my face as if suddenly realizing all he had told me. And my mouth, which seemed desperate to catch up to my brain, blurted out.

"Why?"

Malfoy gave me an almost amused look, as though finding my loss for word enjoyable.

"Why what?"

"Why did you tell me all that?" I asked, afraid to ask and afraid of the answer both.

"Because you look as lost as I am, and twice as hopeless because you haven't accepted that yet." He was quiet for a moment, then smirked. "Plus, you have a flat, and I don't. And maybe a few extra galleons in the bank. I could use both of those. And I think you might find that you have a use for my experiences. Or maybe a use for my bitterness towards the world. So I'll see you around, Granger. Or not, I guess." With that, he walked away, leaving me with a head full of unwanted thoughts and no where to put them.

—

Later that night saw me replaying the conversation over and over as I sat in front of my fire, gazing into the flames. I'd always loved fire. That's why I learned so many spells for it early on. The others were always impressed at the instant warmth I was able to capture, but none of them studied the fire the way I did. I would look at each individual flame and see the way it twisted, jumping around and dancing with the others. They were beautiful, leaping and flickering and most of all, free. The flames didn't know where they were going to end up next. And yet they kept on burning. If I put a twig into the flames, they would swallow around it, seeping the moisture from it until it, too could finally burn.

Some of my friends loved fire as much as I did. Or they said so, at least. They really just appreciated it. They appreciated the warmth it gave off, the cozy aura it brought to a space. Then again, some of them hated fire. They hated the way it could devour building like it devoured a twig, how it had no limits on the wood it would burn. Fire had no conscience, it had no way of choosing where it would go, because it was free. It could tear away someone's job, life, in the blink of an eye.

Yet sitting in front of my fire, I felt cracking sounds and flickering light made me feel grounded, confident even. Because I knew exactly what had to be done.


	3. Chapter 3

When the pale face showed up at my doorstep at 2am, I wasn't surprised, but a little irritated. I knew he was punctual, but now was not the time for it.

"You know, Malfoy, I only extended my invitation at such an early hour because I was awake then. Emphasis on was." Unfortunately, my words didn't seem to have any effect on the Slytherin, as he just blinked and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The nerve! And at three in the morning, no less.

"I would say nice place, Granger, but I've been trying to get out of my old habits of dishonesty." He leaned against the wall and started unlacing his boots. They were black, like the rest of his outfit, which he apparently hadn't changed since I had seen him, the day before. That didn't seem like the Draco Malfoy I knew; during Hogwarts he would actually change before dinner! As if that was a thing that people still did! He had always boasted an impressive wardrobe. Come to think of it..

"Where's your stuff?"

He glanced up at my words, then back at his feet. He slid the last boot off and straightened up.

"I don't have any. Now, I was under the impression that I was being provided with a place to sleep. Unlike you, apparently, that is generally what I do during these hours."

Choosing not to comment that he had been the one to appear at my flat at such a time, I silently led him to the living room. The embers in the hearth still flowed slightly, lighting up the worn sofa.

"Sorry, it's all I have. But you can grab a pillow and blanket from the cabinet in the hall. And the toilet's around the corner to the left. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked the admittedly less than ideal ten feet to the bedroom. I paused on the threshold, glancing back quickly to catch a glimpse of him sitting down. That was going to be something to get used to. I would face the weight of our situation in the morning, I decided, and so closed the door to try and finally get some sleep.

—

I woke a buttery smell on the air and the faint light behind my eyelids informing me I had overslept. Shit. I panicked for a moment, then realized why everything was off. I didn't have a job anymore. Right. And with that came the realization that Malfoy must still be here, and be the source of the smell. I swing myself out of bed and pad to the kitchen, where I am met with a sight I'd never thought I'd get to see.

"You can cook?" I say in an incredulous tone. "And you're making... crepes?"

I laughed, the reality of it setting in. My childhood rival was standing in front of the stove in my own flat, making food for both of us. What had become of my life? I looked over at said former nemesis, who, at the moment, looked disgruntled at my amusement.

"Shut it, Granger," he grumbled. "Just be thankful for the breakfast." He slid two loaded plates onto the table. The smell rising from them was heavenly and reminded me of my parents and the times when nothing really mattered. My mum would always make a different food for breakfast on weekends, just so I could wake up to a new smell. It was the one thing I really missed at Hogwarts, I realized. Suddenly very nostalgic, I sat down at the table.

"So, it seems one way you can make your worth in my house is to cook- I'm utter shit at it, honestly." I note his raised eyebrow. "But what else? After all, I believe you said something about your experience being worth something to me… care to explain?"

Malfoy, who had been chewing thoughtfully, slowly put down his fork. He swallowed, then raised his glass to his lips. He set it down carefully, then looked at me.

"Well, Granger, lets start at the very beginning."

"A very good place to start," I mutter under my breath. At his confused look, I add, "It's a muggle reference. You probably wouldn't get it. Continue, please."

"You see, everything that has happened can really be traced back to one cause. Hogwarts. The place where we were supposed to learn to be our best selves. Where we were supposed to form bonds and lifelong friendships. Instead, what happened? We were separated, and taught that in order to be accepted by our peers we had to take sides. In order to be accepted by the world, we had to take sides. So we did. We formed friendships, and we formed rivalries. Potter and I-" His breath hitched and he broke off. Taking another breath, he continued. "Potter and I fought solely because we thought we had to. Because Hogwarts told us that forgiveness was not always right. That some people didn't deserve it. And honestly, Granger? I think if we hadn't been taught all that, the war wouldn't have happened. I would have never lost my mum, Weasley would still have his whole tribe, and I'd even go as far as to say that Ha- Potter, that is, might even have his parents. Because if people were not taught that muggleborns were lesser, they wouldn't think that they were. And we wouldn't have such problems. Our society is stuck on the bullshit traditions that were relevant centuries ago, and now they are tearing us apart." Pausing, he added, "With me so far?"

My brain, which I had overestimated apparently, couldn't handle what it had just heard. However, I managed to nod in affirmative and get a coherent question out.

"I do certainly support your conclusions but I have to ask, how- no, who, changed you views? As I remember, you used to be happy to conform to these 'traditions' as you put them. What made you give up on your morals?"

My instant regret almost overcomes my curiously, because as soon as I ask, his eyes change. They darken angrily, and it reminds me of when I used to be terrified of him. Then they soften. No. Soften is a nice word. The anger in them is corroded away, replaced by an awful wistfulness and longing, and for a moment I think Draco Malfoy might start crying in my kitchen. But he doesn't.

He shakes his head slowly, as if to clear it.

"Someone who I underestimated. You know him quite well, I believe. However, it's beside the point. As I was saying, our world is teaching us that we are divided into classes. Many people still go along with this intolerance because they don't know what else to do. In fact, what I am beginning to realize is that that intolerance did not get stamped out but the war. If anything, it was made stronger. And the ministry is at the heart of this brewing hate, and it will soon be torn apart. However, we both know that the ministry is full of incompetent idiots. The question really is, who will be the one to tip it over? And who will be the ones to pick up the pieces after it does? The answer: us, hopefully. So I believe you asked why I gave up on my morals? I never gave up on them. I just realized they were wrong."

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a satisfied smirk, probably realizing the mental catastrophe he had caused. Crossing his arms, he asked, "Questions?" And I couldn't help but think that I had been given a military briefing of some sort. Or maybe a lecture, from an over-pompous professor. I snorted at the image of Malfoy teaching people about morals. However, my smile waned as I realized how accurate both of my images were.


End file.
